


Baby It's Cold Outside

by Momokai



Series: D:BH Wheels of (Mis)Fortune Prompts [1]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, Hacking, I'm Evil Like That, I.e Gavin & Hank's Potty Mouths, M/M, Minor Appearance From Hank and Gavin Reed, Minor Violence, Oneshot, Originally Written For The Sole Purpose Of Tormenting People On A DBH Discord, Post Pacifist/Best Ending, Prompt Fic, RK900 is called Nines, Rating for Language, Unbeta'd we typo like men, Whump, and its cute, because I'm lazy, did I mention the angst?, hand-wavy police stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-01
Updated: 2018-08-01
Packaged: 2019-06-19 22:24:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15519945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Momokai/pseuds/Momokai
Summary: "Hank." He says thickly, hands still cradling Nines' face. "Hank, he needs help.""Fuck."





	Baby It's Cold Outside

**Author's Note:**

  * For [harperhug](https://archiveofourown.org/users/harperhug/gifts).



  
  


The day had started like any other.

 

Androids didn't require sleep as such, but it was... _nice_ , to enter stasis sometimes. Connor had become an almost instant fan of doing so in a proper bed, _especially_ with a solid line of warmth pressed against his back and a possessive arm draped over his waist.  


It was a common occurrence these days, one Connor wouldn't trade for the world.  


'Waking up' in the arms of his lover in the bed they shared within their --frankly unnecessary, but Hank had _persisted_ \-- apartment might not have been something he'd ever foreseen for himself, but he couldn’t find it in him to regret it, likely never would-- _Especially_ on days like this; when he'd set his internal clock to wake him earlier than usual, and he got to lay eyes on the absolutely charming --and rare-- image of Nines' relaxed face and endearingly ‘sleep’ mussed hair. He looked unquestionably _softer_ like this; the normally hard edge to his typical neutral expression smoothed out into something less severe and almost tranquil, _gentle_.  

But that had been this morning, when everything was normal-- when everything had been as it _should_ be.  


 

The call comes in near the end of the workday, and its all hands on deck. Connor had arrived on scene with Hank while Nines had stepped out of a car with his own partner, Reed. Both had looked decidedly disgruntled as they arrived to the scene, but that was nothing out of the ordinary for them. Their dynamic had always seemed odd to Connor, the RK800 never able to decide if they merely tolerated or outright despised each other.  


Hank always found it amusing, often snorting at their rather abrasive banter once they got going _._ But they still somehow managed to _work_ , and if Nines didn’t see anything wrong with their relationship, then neither did Connor-- even if he didn’t understand it _at all._   


The building they’re called to has no power, and the interior is pitch black as a result. All officers on site carry flashlights as standard, but Connor knows that _he_ doesn't need one, knows that he can go in unencumbered. His hands would be free in case the worst should happen, and he could react to a threat much faster than a human with full hands.  


He of course voices this to the captain, who is on site and in charge of the scene. The RK800 is almost turned down, -- _nobody’s going in there alone goddamnit, not even you_ \-- but he's backed up by Nines, who volunteers to go in with him to clear the building. Connor approves of the idea; the probabilities of success skyrocket with the more advanced androids presence, and that’s always a plus in his books. And, he always enjoys the rare instances they work together, because they do indeed _work_ together. They’re certainly a much more efficient and cohesive unit than a group of half blind humans fumbling in the dark.  


The only uncertainty that trips up his calculations however, is that no one knows exactly _what_ they'd be walking into.  


The call had reported a possible anti-android group taking up residence in the building and stockpiling weapons, but there had been no movement inside since they’d arrived. The building was like a dead zone.    

Connor and Nines are given the ok with no small reluctance, and the two RK models check their firearms before moving into the building, falling in stride with one another perfectly-- cohesive and efficient.   
  
  
And invested in the others safety.

  
Everything had been going fine. They cleared floor after floor in the dark, night vision and sensors systematically mapping their path and the rooms they found. They didn't find anything out of the ordinary. What the did find, was a terminal on the highest floor. As dark as the rest of the building.

  
Dark, until they draw near it, and suddenly the display lights up. There's no physical means of operating the terminal, Connor notes as they cautiously approach-- a clear sign that it belongs to an android. Model unknown.  


Its Nines who breaks the silence they'd kept throughout the search bar reporting their finds and positions over a frequency unique to them.   
  
  
"There are four terabits of used memory on the hard-drive. It could be useful information." He observes, and Connor tilts his head, considering even as the RK900 steps up to the terminal and pauses, awaiting his verdict.  


"I'm not sure." The RK800 murmurs thoughtfully, but the lure of potential information is great, and with the rest of the building being all but barren they need what they can _get_ .  "Alright, but _be careful."_ He says at length, and Nines' neutral expression  -- _resting bitch face, as he'd often heard Reed refer to it on numerous occasion_ \-- warms into a small smile.   
  
  
"Always." He replies, and the RK900 carefully places his palm atop the terminals interface, synthetic skin of his hand giving way to unblemished ivory as he makes the connection.  


Connor's eyes stray from his lovers back during the 4.2 seconds it takes the younger android to break through the terminals encryptions and locate the file, rechecking the area-- only to start in surprise when the taller male abruptly jerks, posture going stiff. Connor can't see his expression or his LED from this angle, so he doesn't know what's wrong.  


"What is it?" He asks in concern, only to frown when the other android doesn't respond.

  
"Nines?" The androids hand slides off the interface limply, and he makes no indication that he’s even heard the RK800. Connor steps forward, reaching for his shoulder as the concern melts into uncertainty-- into _fear_ .   
  
  
"Nines, answer me, what's wrong?" He pleads, but again, there's no response. His hand settles on the taller androids shoulder, and Connor slides his palm down his arm until he can grip his elbow, gently turning him.  


"Nines-" The RK900 finally responds, but its not in any way Connor would have expected. His right hand snaps up and long fingers clamp like a vice around Connor's throat, instantly applying pressure.  


He chokes on the others name as something gives in his throat, the skin deactivating under the points of contact with Nines' hand as his own reflexively jerk up to grip the his wrist. When the RK800 gets a look at Nines' face, at his _eyes,_ he's instantly horrified.  
  
  
Blank. Completely blank. Utterly devoid of life.  

 

_It's not Nines._

 

The horrible realization is quickly followed by another. The terminal. The _terminal_ had done this-- It had either uploaded some sort of virus into the RK900 or someone had used the connection to _hack_ him.   
  
  
It was the only explanation, because Nines-   
  
  
Nines could be stern, sometimes even callous for the sake of a case, but he could also be sweet, and kind and _would never hurt him.  
  
_

The knowledge doesn't soften the blow the larger android delivers to his abdomen, jarring his thirium pump and sending a small plethora of errors across his vision before using the grip he has on the RK800's neck to pull him closer. Nines pivots on his heel with Connor in tow, and effortlessly hurls him into the wall.  


The impact is jarring, rattling his frame and his processes, which freeze momentarily when he hits the floor. He'd always known, logically, that Nines was stronger than him. He'd seen the RK900's specifications the first time they'd interfaced-- He knew how powerful he was.  
  
  
But that doesn’t prepare him for the reality of it. He'd never thought he'd be on the receiving end of that brute strength. Not like _this.  
  
_

"Nines." He rasps into the cement dust beneath him as he forces his limbs to obey him even as they lag under the shock of the impact. The other android doesn't respond; just steps toward him again and stoops to grab at the back of his jacket. He's easily hoisted off the ground, and he gasps as he's suddenly slammed back down. The cement _cracks_ under the force.

 

He's lifted again and brought almost eye level with Nines' hip, and brown eyes lock automatically onto the gun still holstered there.  
  
_It's such an odd thing to notice_ , he thinks. That the android hadn't simply drawn it and done away with him quickly, cleanly. But that, he realizes, is what _Nines_ would have done. Whatever is in control of the RK900 now is either sloppy or-  


A knee slams into his face, and Connor feels his nose break. Thirium instantly coats his lips and chin even Nines twists his hips and flings him across the room by his jacket. He manages to preconstruct his landing, and twists mid air to land on his feet. He slides back several paces from the momentum, but he's upright now, and he could- he could...  
  
  
He could _what_ ?  Defend himself? Fight Nines? _Hurt_ him?

  
Connor...He can't hurt Nines. He can't, any more than Nines could hurt him. What the RK900 is doing now _isn’t him_ , it’s not his fault. Something, or some _one_ else is controlling him, and he...

  
He has to find a way to break the control. He has to snap Nines _out of it.  
  
_

His eyes dart over to the terminal as the RK900 stalks towards him with dead eyes and a searing red LED. The younger android either does not notice where his gaze lingers, or does not care, because he doesn't react to his obvious intent beyond quickening his pace. Connor preconstructs a few scenarios.  
  
  
He can make a break for the terminal. But Nines is faster than him, _he'll be caught._ _  
_   
  
He could confront Nines head on and aim to disable him, buy himself enough time to get to the terminal but- Nines is stronger than him. _He would overpower Connor before he had the chance to subdue him._ _  
_   
  
He could...He could draw his firearm, shoot the other android in the knee, disable his leg. It would slow him down, interfere with his balance and buy Connor time to reach the terminal. _But it meant hurting him._

  
Nines' stress level is dangerously high, either from the weight of the hacking on his systems or what he's being forced to do-- and that's what makes up Connor's mind. If this goes on too much longer, either Connor will be deactivated _\--killed--_ or the RK900 will destabilize under the force of the assault on his programs and his stress. Neither are desirable outcomes, but Connor fears for _Nines_ most of all. 

  
He needs to stop this. He needs to stop this _now_ .   
  
  
Connor draws his gun.  


Nines doesn't even seem to notice the danger, he just keeps coming for him. _It's very disturbing_ , Connor thinks with a pang. Nines had gotten better with relaxing around others, but he was still always attuned to what was going on around him. So very observant, so very attuned to _Connor_ . Him not paying any mind to the gun leveled on him rings all kinds of bells for the RK800, and drives home the point that _this?_ This is not Nines, at all. It's a machine following orders, and he doesn’t like it one bit. He wants --needs-- _his_ Nines back.   
  
  
Connor lines up the shot just as the taller android prepares to lunge for him, and fires.  


* * *

 

  
  
Nothing is as it should be.   


From the moment his hand touches that terminal, his body stops responding to his commands. His firewalls rear up and slam into place, but they’re frozen before they can lock in. His protective systems are rapidly outpaced, his connections severed. His thoughts are his own, but his actions _are not_ .   
  
  
He's trapped in his own head and he can do nothing but _watch_ .  


Nines struggles, but no matter how much he thrashes within his own programs he can't buck the invading code. It presses him _down_ even as it lifts his hand _up_ . He claws at it, but it shakes his grip even as it tightens his fingers around Connor's throat.   
  
  
_  
Stop. _

  
  
Connor, predictably, doesn't stand a chance.

  
Nines doesn't stop wrestling with the foreign code, doesn't stop running countermeasure after countermeasure even as he continues to watch in mounting horror. The sight of thirium on Connor's face-- thirium _he_ had drawn, he thinks, will haunt him for however long he has left.

 

 _Stop it._   
  


As will the look of pain in Connor's eyes as he levels his gun at the Rk900, masked only faintly by the shine of determination. A small, instinctive part of him recoils in fear at the threat while a larger part --the majority in fact-- presses forward almost eagerly, desperately. He can't control himself, his body isn't _his_ anymore. It's a prison and the warden has ordered an execution. _Connor's_ .   
  
  
There's no other choice.   
  
  
  
_Do it!_

  


His body coils, --ignoring his commands to _cease--_ in preparation to strike, and Nines wants to close his eyes, --can't bare to watch-- but he can't.   
  
  
  
_Do it Connor, now, shoot me now!_ _  
_   
  
  
He sees more than hears the gun go off, the muzzle flash bright in the pitch blackness of the room, but the relief is short lived. A warning pops up, and stays there-- ignored by whoever is driving his body even as Nines stares at it in despair. The joint in his knee is destroyed.   
  
  
  
_No. Connor no._ _  
_   
  
  
It's not enough, and it's made readily apparent when the knee buckles under his weight, but locks in place long enough for his hand to close over the gun. Connor looks surprised, and Nines knows he had bet on the leg giving way completely.  


The RK800 tries to dance back from his reaching hands-- but Nines' body is _fast_ , and his other hand closes around his tie, using the grip to reel the smaller android in for a vicious headbutt. The gun goes off in their hands, likely an involuntary action on Connor's part produced by the shock to his processor, and another warning crops up as the circuits in his palm spark and thirium drips from his fingers onto the floor.   
  
  
Connor looks horrified.  


" _Nines_ I-" Connor begins, but he's cut off when the gun is yanked from his hand and promptly whipped against the side of his head. The RK800 reels aside, then collapses.  


His LED is switching rapidly between red and yellow, and his eyelashes flutter. He's stunned.  


Nines' body tosses the gun aside carelessly, then drops to straddle Connor's waist, pinning the older androids arms to the ground with his knees. Nines shoves against the invading code driving his body, keeps trying to find a way around it-- but when his hand settles almost gently on Connor's chest, fingers slipping between the buttons of his shirt-- he stalls in horror.

  
His fingers curl, then dig into the rounded edges of Connor's thirium pump regulator.

  
  
_No_ . He pleads the code as Connor's eyes widen in comprehension, and the RK800 begins struggling under him. His wrist twists sharply, and Connor jerks.   
  
  
  
_No!_   
  
  
  
The RK900’s body yanks the pump from the other androids chest, and Connor convulses once, twice, then slumps against the cement weakly, mouth working silently as shutdown is initiated. His LED is a solid red, and Nines knows he has less than two minutes. Whoever is driving his body must know too, because they don't move him.  
  
  
They're making him _watch_ .  


Connor stares up at him with damp eyes, and Nines thinks his heart is breaking. He tries to regain control, to take the pump still in his hand and _put it back, please just putitbackhe’sgoingtodie_ but his body won't move. It stays where it is, watching detachedly as the RK800 beneath it slowly deactivates, and Nines...Nines can't do it.  


He can't retake control.  
  


I _'m sorry. I'm so sorry. I've failed you, Connor. It's all my fault._

  


Unbidden, a memory file plays out, as if summoned by his misery and self loathing. A conversation he'd had with Connor months ago as they'd all but languished in bed on a rare day off. He'd been curious about something. A remnant of his original programming, perhaps, or simply a desire to know more about Connor.

 

 _"How did you do it?"  
_ _  
_ _  
_ _"Hm? Do what?"_ _  
_ _  
  
_ _"Defy Amanda, when she overrode you."_ _  
_ _  
  
_ _"Oh...I...found a back door."_ _  
_ _  
  
_ _"A back door?"_ _  
_ _  
  
_ _"It was something Kamski had said to me during the investigation. That he 'always leaves a back door in his programs.' It was true, he...he really did, and it saved me."_

 

A... back door.

 

* * *

  


**_Warning: Biocomponent #8456w > Missing. Time remaining before Shutdown - 00 : 01 : 10  
_ ** **_  
  
_ **

His vision wavers, static creeping into the edges of his peripheral as his night vision glitches in and out. The timer ticks down steadily, but he doesn't do more than glance at it. Nines is still straddling him, settled unnaturally still even for an android, eyes fixed with his own-- detached, _empty_ . His LED is flickering rapidly, distressed and horribly red, and Connor thinks his own wouldn't be much different.  


His thirium pump is still held in the RK900's hand, blue blood slowly trickling from the vital component and staining pale fingers. Within reach, but ultimately unattainable.  


_I’m going to die_ , he thinks, and Nines is never going to forgive himself. He's going to take the blame-- shoulder it, hoard it, _drown_ in it, and Connor can't even tell him that it's not his fault. Connor _doesn't blame him._ His mouth opens, but the words won't come. His voice is nothing but static as the timer hits **_00 : 00: 44.  
  
_ **

He blinks, and something slips down to wet his temples. It's not Nines' fault. It's _his_ .  
  
  
Connor was the one who had insisted on entering the building with no one else but the RK900 for backup. He was the one who had allowed Nines to interface with that _fucking terminal.  
  
  
_

**_Time remaining before Shutdown - 00 . 00 . 30_ ** **_  
  
  
_ **

Connor doesn't think he's ever truly, _honestly_ hated anyone before. He'd loathed Amanda, but he hadn't hated her. He thinks… he hates the one responsible for forcing Nines to watch him die.

 

**_Time remaining before Shutdown - 00 . 00 . 10_ **

 

He tugs on his arm, trapped beneath one of the RK900's knees. His fingers twitch with the urge - _-the need_ \-- to touch him one last time, to reassure him, _anything_ , but it won't budge; he's pinned too well, and much too weak besides. His eyes haven't left Nines' since his thirium pump had been pulled, and he tries to convey his words through them. _It'll be ok. It's not your fault. Don't blame yourself. I'm sorry. I lo-_ _  
_   
  
A tear escapes the ice, and trails down Nines cheek.

 

**_Time remaining before Shutdown - 00 . 00 . 05_ **

 

**_00 . 00 . 04_ **

 

**_00 . 00 . 03_ **

 

**_00 . 00 . 02_ **

 

**_Biocomponent #8456w > Restored. Shutdown averted._ **

 

Connor jerks, systems shocked at the abrupt return of the vital component so close to catastrophic failure, and gasps raggedly. His vision clears as the weight on his waist disappears, and the RK800 reaches out for it almost blindly. His fingers encounter air, and he lifts his head with some difficulty to locate the other android. His eyes widen, and he struggles upright.   
  
  
Nines is collapsed on the cement, eyes closed.  


"Nines?!" He calls hoarsely as he rolls onto his knees, only to drop to his hands. His body moves sluggishly-- pump hard at work to restore thirium flow to deprived systems. He crawls the few feet to reach the disturbingly lifeless RK900 and reaches for his face, cupping a hand over a tear stained cheek.  


"Nines." He calls, patting the synthetic flesh gently. The younger android doesn't respond, and he straightens enough to get two fistfuls of the androids jacket lapels. He shakes him.   
  
  
"Nines!" The RK900's head lolls to the side, and Connor stares at his LED. It's almost completely extinguished but for the faintest flicker of red light that pulses slowly, _weakly_ .  


It's a sign, he thinks, one he's familiar with. It's the indicator of a completely taxed system. One on the verge of giving out all together. Connor releases his jacket lapels and cups his face instead, leaning down to press his forehead against the others.   
  
  
"You're going to be alright." He says _\--pleads--_.  


"Connor!" A familiar voice shouts from the doorway, and the RK800 jumps in surprise, straightening just enough to look up and spot Hank rapidly approaching with a flashlight held in tandem with his gun, which he kept leveled at the ground. _Reed_ of all people is hot on his heels, face set into a deep frown and eyes shrewd as he checks every corner of the room with his own gun and flashlight.  
  
  
"Jesus fucking _Christ_ , what happened?! We heard shots." Hank exclaims, only to draw up short when he finally gets a proper look at the androids. Connor doesn't mean to, really, but the _relief_ at seeing Hank and the stress of the events that had just taken place combined with Nines' condition has tears spilling unwittingly down his cheeks.  
  
  
" _Hank_ ." He says thickly, hands still cradling Nines' face. "Hank, he needs help."  


"Fuck." The curse comes from Reed, who pulls out a radio to call it in. Connor doesn't listen to what he says-- he's too focused on Nines and his weak LED. Hank slowly kneels beside him, and grasps Connor's shoulder with a firm hand.  
  
  
"Connor, what happened?" He asks, and Connor reluctantly removes a hand from Nines to scrub the artificial tears from his face.   
  
  
"I think it was a trap. There was no one here." He explains mechanically. "We located a terminal and deduced that it might contain information vital to the case. Nines accessed it and-" he broke off, unconsciously brushing the RK900's hair back.  


"A virus, possibly a live hacking. It took him over." Hank curses, and Connor reluctantly tears his eyes away from the younger android to meet the lieutenants gaze.  


"He needs _help_ , Hank. I think he's..." The tears threaten all over again, but this time he manages to fight them back. Just because he has embraced his deviancy, doesn’t mean he’s comfortable with such an obvious emotional display, especially at such a critical time. It’s not _like_ him.   
  
  
"I think he's dying." He finishes.

  
"He _aint_ fucking dying." Reed snaps as he shoves his radio back into his jacket pocket. Connor whips around to face the detective, metaphorical hackles rising with Hank not far behind him. Reed scowls at Nines’ inactive form, ignoring them both.  


"He damn well ain't allowed to." He finishes, and just like that, Connor thinks he might understand the man a little better.   
  
  
His and Nines' dynamic is abrasive and rocky, but they've always somehow worked _well_ together. Maybe he'd misjudged it after all?   
  
  
"Cuz I'm gonna kill his plastic ass myself for being such a fucking moron!" Reed growls, and Hank snorts quietly beside him while Connor purses his lips. _Or not._

  
Whatever Reed had said over the radio brings a pair of paramedics hustling through the door, --androids both of them-- armed with a thick silver case and a gurney. Hank stands with a muffled grunt, --joints no doubt protesting-- and tugs a reluctant Connor up with him. He doesn't want to leave Nines' side, but the android 'medics' are waiting a few yards away, ready to tend to his lover but not wanting to get between them. Stepping back at Hank's quiet insistence, -- _let them do their jobs son, they're here to help him_ \--  he watches silently, intently, as they get to work. 

  
One of them, a WR400 of all models, quickly opens the case, revealing an assortment of high-tech supplies and extra bags of thirium. What she pulls from the case however is a tablet connected to a thin black cable that ends in a three pronged connection, which she promptly slots into the port at the back of Nines' neck after gently tilting his head.   
  
  
"He'll be fine." Hank assures him with a comforting pat to his back.  


Tense minutes pass, and whatever the WR400 does to Nines with her tablet eventually causes his LED to weakly pulse yellow. Her brows scrunch up in bewilderment.  


"Huh." She says, and Connor's eyes all but pin her in place with their intensity, but she doesn't even seem to notice.   
  
  
"What is it?" Reed asks before anyone else can, and the WR400 shares a glance with her partner, who is efficiently stemming the thirium flow from Nines' ruined knee.   
  
  
"He was hacked alright." She announces, "And he nearly tore his own coding apart fighting it." She continues with a mildly disturbed but oddly impressed glance down at Nines.   
  
  
"Will he be alright?" Connor asks almost desperately. The WR400 hums.   
  
  
"That's the thing." She says. "He _shouldn't_ be. Not after that." Connor's knees weaken. "But whatever he did? It reversed the connection." She smirks. "He hacked the hacker, and it saved his life.”   


"It also got him an address." Everyone's attention whips down to the source of the words, and the WR400 startles as Nines' eyes wince partly open. She gapes at the larger android for a moment, then snorts.  
  
  
"Well shit, you RK models are just made out of something else entirely aren't you." She says with incredulous amusement as she carefully removes the cable from his port. Connor has to combat the urge to throw himself at the RK900 when his LED brightens-- still cycling yellow, but there's no red in sight.

  
Nines remains silent, but the WR400 doesn't hold it against him as she packs away the tablet. Her partner finishes sealing the damage to the RK900's hand, and stands.

  
"I did what I can with what I have. You can handle the rest I'm sure, since most of the damage is in your code. I'd still recommend stopping by a clinic just to be on the safe side, though." She says, and Connor very pointedly marks a day in his internal calendar and quickly searches out the best cyber clinic to drag the younger android to. He won't be taking no for an answer.   
  
  
At last, the medic retreat, taking their equipment and gurney with them, and Connor finally allows himself to --not throw himself-- kneel beside the RK900, who hasn't made any moves to sit up. Or any moves at all, really. His LED is still yellow, but it's much brighter now.   


"Are you alright?" He asks, and exhales almost shakily in relief when Nines' turns warm eyes --not cold, not lifeless, its _Nines-_ on him.   
  
  
"Statistically speaking, I've been better." He replies, and Hank snorts.   
  
  
"Yup, he's fine." The lieutenant announces as he steps over to the doorway to give the two androids a moment to themselves. Reed is conspicuously absent.  


Connor swallows thickly in a purely human gesture, and Nines opens his mouth to say something, eyes dark with regret and apology, but Connor cuts him off before he can begin.   
  
  
"I'd...very much like to go home, now." He admits, and Nines blinks, before his LED smooths into cool blue.   
  
  
"Please." The RK900 concurs emphatically. Connor's lips twitch up at the corners. They’re probably far from fine after this, but for now they’ll manage, the RK800 thinks. They can deal with it later.  


For now, he just wants to take Nines home, because they’re in serious need of some R&R.  

 

 

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I originally wrote this as a suspended-fic on discord in response to a prompt, and then further enabled by my fellow angst goblins on the server. 
> 
> Fun fact: I actually intended to kill Nines, but took pity on everyone screaming in the discord. You're welcome.


End file.
